Cafe Ciliegia
by eightbitspit
Summary: Marth's an inspired playwright with no inspiration, and Roy is a barista with acting skills pristine after years of serving coffeecake. With his adaption of 'The Black Thief and the Knight of Glen' going nowhere, Marth decides Roy might be the cure for his writers' block – and his relationship issues. MxR. INDEFINITE HIATUS as of 5/1/13.
1. lamponi soffiaggio

June 15th, 6:27 AM. The very moment Marth lost his sanity, not to mention his will to write. Or live. Not that there was much of a difference.

He was stretched across the backseat of his 1995 Maxima, a binder full of messily written plot bunnies by his side, while The Duprees swooned wistfully from the radio. His checkered newsboy hat was tugged over his eyes to block out the intruding sunlight peeking through the back window. Marth could've stayed there for hours, contemplating on the fact that he'd completely failed as a playwright and a human being, but whoever was repeatedly calling his cellphone obviously had other things in mind.

"Marth! Don't scare me like that, I wake up at five and you're gone, plus your keys are missing and you're not answering your phone and…why are you listening to the Beach Boys?"

"Pit," Marth sighed, recognizing the boyish voice of his roommate, "I've failed. There's nothing left for me…nothing…"

Pit bit his lip. "Again?"

"It doesn't matter. What's a writer with nothing to write about? I'm just a hopeless romantic with a theatre project I'm certainly going to fail…then I'll never be successful. I'll never be remembered as the Prince of Symphonies…"

"I bet you just need coffee. Badly. You'll feel better," Pit insisted. Marth tilted his hat away from his eyes, letting his navy blue bangs fall in its place.

"What's the use in that? My muse is gone;" Here Marth paused for a melodramatic sigh, "and nothing can bring her back, not even all the stars in heaven."

"Meet me at Café Ciliegia on Harbor Street, and if you don't show up I'm using Muffins as a dust rag the next time I clean our dorm!"

"Fine, fine, just don't hurt the cat. So you have a ride?" Marth crawled into the front seat and shut off the CD player in the middle of 'The Sand and the Sea'.

"Of course. I have a boyfriend, after all."

"If you can get him out of bed. Six-thirty seems a little early for Ike."

"Not if he's already awake," a deeper voice yawned from Pit's end of the phone. Marth raised an eyebrow.

"I panicked! And _you weren't answering your phone_!"

"You do realize what will happen if the head resistant sees you two."

Pit exhaled nervously. "Just meet us at Ciliegia and order a latte or something." With that, Marth shut off his phone and squished it back into his pocket, stifling a choked chuckle. He didn't have the energy to remind the high-strung freshman he hated milk anyway.

.+.

Café Ciliegia wasn't particularly spacious, with seven sets of tables with four chairs each crammed into one room; still, Marth took an instant liking for the little place. All the furnishings were crafted sleekly out of maple wood, and broad windows took up most of the front wall as to invite in potential customers with its warm disposition. The counter and display case stretched along the right wall, accessorized by a few potted plants and a flat screen hanging on the wall space above them. Smooth jazz hummed softly from the speakers on the ceiling. The place was deserted now; the café wouldn't attract the breakfast crowd for an hour or so. The exhausted dramatist strolled up to the cashier to order that stupid latte Pit had mentioned.

"Hello, welcome to Café Ciliegia! How may I help you?"

Marth studied the cashier for a brief moment; he was not quite Marth's height, with spiky crimson hair that slightly covered one of his light blue eyes. Black thick-rimmed sunglasses balanced on his forehead, and his nametag read _Hello, my name is Roy Pherae. _

"A small raspberry latte, please. With skim milk," Marth replied after some consideration. Roy smiled brightly and scribbled his order down with vigor.

"So," Roy began, stirring the milk into the espresso and watching it froth, "was I right?"

Marth sat down in the chair closest to the counter and looked at him. "Right about…?"

"Your personality. You're a trendsetter. You like exotic experiences, you're open-minded, you're indecisive…was I right?"

Marth laughed aloud. "How do you figure that?"

"You ordered a raspberry," Roy remarked happily. "A latte can say a lot about a person."

"Oh really? And what does it say about you?"

"Umm, for vanilla…energetic, hard-working, and completely irresistible?"

"Irresistible? Do you get that a lot?" Marth chuckled.

"Okay, I added that last part because it sounded good, but you get the idea." Roy sat a fat glass full of rose-colored fluff and a croissant in front of Marth, who stared up at him blankly. The redhead shrugged.

"You look like you need it, Mr. Raspberry. Making that sort of face." He grabbed another one of the pastries off the display rack and held it above his mouth in the shape of a frown. "Is something bothering you?"

"Not particularly," Marth answered blandly, though he couldn't help gazing in the direction of the plastic binder. Roy followed his line of vision and took the binder in his hands.

"Umm, mind if I take a look?"

The playwright gave him a bitter smile, his earlier despair descending on him once again. "Go ahead. Read the monstrosity that single-handedly destroyed my blossoming career…" He took a sip of the latte and sputtered. God, he hated milk.

Roy was already lost in Marth's theatrical, his azure eyes shining as he looked over each word with precision.

"_The Black Thief and the Knight of Glen_?"

Marth rubbed his temples with an unhappy sigh. "It's an Irish fairy tale. I wasn't satisfied doing something simple…it had to be unknown, exotic. Different." Roy nodded along absent-mindedly, and Marth noticed his lips forming a rushed line of wordless dialogue. He shut the binder with such vigor that Marth jumped slightly.

"Okay, I think I have that down." Roy adjusted his sunglasses and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he gave Marth a ruthless glare and scowled blackly.

"Audacious villains!" he shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. "How dare you attempt so bold an action as to steal my steed!" At this point, Roy began to smirk, walking towards Marth while putting emphasis on each footstep. He leaned in towards Marth and stopped only inches away from his face.

"See, now," Roy hissed, almost chuckling, "the reward of your folly…for your greater punishment I will not boil you all together…" He stood up and thrust his arm towards the back of the room, grinning madly. "But one after the other, so that he that survives…"

Roy's voice completely faltered and he stooped down again, staring mercilessly into Marth's eyes. When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

"So that he that survives may witness the _dire _afflictions of his unfortunate companions."

Marth's mouth opened cautiously; he was almost afraid to speak in the presence of the man he'd just seen offering to torture him without a hint of remorse. But then, Roy stepped back, panting slightly. "H-how was it? Did I make a good knight?"

Marth exhaled and broke into a grin. "Brilliant! It evoked the very spirit of unadulterated hatred…the very _essence _of the knight! I felt myself shivering in my seat!"

The barista fidgeted, smiling bashfully. "Umm…was it really that good?"

"It was a masterpiece. Under that coffee-stained apron, I sense…TALENT!" Marth stood up and flung his arms around Roy's shoulders, studying the boy carefully. _He'd do well, almost certainly. With those kind of acting skills…not a bad looker, either. _Marth felt the sweeping sensation of butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He had an idea. A perfectly crazy, fantastic idea.

Though maybe his stomach was fluttering for a different reason.

.+.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Like really, really sorry! I didn't know you were allergic to raspberries!" Roy timidly handed Marth another slip of toilet paper, which the blunette wiped his mouth on, hiccupping quietly.

Marth shook his head with a feeble smile. "Lactose intolerant, actually. It's my fault for ordering the damn thing. That damn _wonderful _thing…Roy, I've got an idea."

"Do you always throw up when you get good ideas?"

"Only the best ones."

A bell chirped from the front of the restaurant and Roy stood up, messily smearing ugly pink stains into his apron.

"I have another customer…I'll be back in a minute, umm…"

"Mr. Raspberry doesn't cut it anymore?" Marth laughed. "Marth. Marth Lowell."

"Marth." Roy smiled and bolted back into the seating area, Marth rising weakly to follow him.

"Hello, welcome to Café Ciliegia! How may I help you?"

"We're waiting for someone…actually…" The bony figure of Pit stood in the doorway, his fluffy brunette hair uncharacteristically frazzled; Ike loomed over him like a shadow, wrapped up in a black hoodie despite the fact it was probably a hundred degrees outside. Marth slouched into the nearest chair and waved half-heartedly at his two friends, who immediately came scampering over.

"Marth! Are you okay? I mean, on the phone, you sounded like you wanted to die…you're not trying to die, are you?" Pit shook his roommate's shoulders fiercely, obviously waiting for explanation.

"Perhaps not, my friend…for my hope has been renewed!" He pointed a limp finger in Roy's direction, who peered back at the three curiously. "You are truly looking into the face of stardom! A true muse for this flickering soul."

"What are you going on about?" Ike yawned, batting a sleepy green eye. Marth glared at him.

"And what were you doing in Pit's room at six in the morning?"

At Ike's flustered silence, Marth decided to continue, throwing his arm around Roy's shoulders. "This bright young barista – say, how old were you?"

"Eighteen?"

"Right. As I was saying, this bright young barista of just eighteen mere years already possesses the untapped skill of a professional actor! He is the living, breathing inspiration that courses through my veins – the perfect actor to star in my screenplay!"

"Screenplay?" Roy's sunglasses toppled off his forehead and fell lopsidedly across his nose. "Wait…you want me to be in a play? I don't…I mean, I have school and…"

Marth gave him a wink. "Relax, my trainee. 'Tis summer, the season of possibilities!" He proceeded to sit down in the nearest seat and write so diligently in his binder the table began to tremble, leaving Roy looking as though he'd just watched someone launch a rocket.

"That definitely wasn't the guy I met this morning," Roy remarked weakly in Ike's direction. The latter shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. He'll cool down eventually. Trust me, this won't be your first encounter with that poster child of insanity." He held out a gloved hand to Roy. "I'm Ike by the way. And this is Pit." Pit emerged from behind Ike and waved nervously.

"Roy." Roy grinned and held up his hands as if taking a picture. "Let me guess…cinnamon and hazelnut, right?"

Ike and Pit exchanged puzzled glances just as Marth shot back up again, holding a stack of lined papers smeared with messy pencil marks.

"Read this," he commanded, giving the papers to Roy. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven, sharp. Be here!"

Roy opened his mouth to inform Marth he didn't have a shift tomorrow, but thought better of it. He hadn't acted in a year, and something about the unabashed excitement in Marth's attitude was beginning to win him over. _Well, it'd be better than cleaning puke off the floor. _

"Done." Roy handed back the papers and smiled warmly at Marth. "So, see you tomorrow, Mr. Raspberry?"

**A/N: Hi. I'm the author and I obviously have no idea what I'm doing. **

**Anyway, this story was born from my desire to write more of my forgotten otp. ;^; I love coffeehouses and cafes too, but I don't know how much of the café we'll see for a while. Next up is Marth's theater club. c: **

**Also, if you're curious, I might put up the link to the latte quiz on my profile. Yours truly is a pumpkin latte, apparently. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading and sorry for rambling! Constructive crit is appreciated. **


	2. cast e la troupe

**A/N: So okay, the author's note is up here for a minute. Mainly because I want to thank my first reviewers! Thank you for the words of encouragement; I'm really delighted that you guys gave this thing a chance. To everyone else, thank you for reading and sorry for ranting! I hope you enjoy chapter two. **

Roy stifled a yawn and sank his teeth into a cold crab wonton. It was unseasonably cold for June and Marth was late by about twenty minutes, but Roy, in his half-awake state, tried to retain a sense of optimism. Which was getting harder to do considering his fingers were too numb to pick up his chopsticks.

"Roy!" The redhead looked up to see a dented Maxima, its backseat cluttered with paper scraps, drive up with its horn honking. Marth waved merrily from the front seat, already looking as chipper as he had yesterday. Shivering, Roy climbed into the passenger seat and gave Marth the shadow of his lively smile. "Morning."

"You seem a little off your vanilla today," Marth decided with a chuckle. Roy shrugged.

"It was cold and you were late. Fashionably late." Roy observed Marth's crisp black suit and felt a small twinge of panic. "Was I supposed to wear something that fancy?" He inspected his own pizza sauce-stained jacket with dismay.

"Nonsense. Acting is about skill. About passion. You could show up in drag for all I care." Roy couldn't help but grin at that. "So who else is coming?"

"There's Ike and Pit, who you met yesterday…and then there's Link and Samus. Zelda might show up if we're lucky."

"That's it?"

"You seem surprised."

Roy shrugged. "I guess so. Back at Branmeadow we had hundreds of people."

The car came to a screeching halt, flinging Roy into its dashboard with a satisfying thwack. From somewhere behind them came a chorus of irritated honks, followed by a man's voice bellowing, "Watch the road, dumbass!"

"You went to _Branmeadow_!?" Marth interrogated in complete astonishment.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic?" moaned Roy in reply. "Yes, I went to Branmeadow. And now there's soy sauce all over your window."

Regaining his composure, Marth steered his car forward, earning himself several glares from the drivers around him. "_The _Branmeadow School of Theatrical Arts? The greatest acting school in the country?" He sighed romantically. "I would an arm and a leg just to walk up their _staircase!_"

"But you'd only have one leg," Roy observed.

Marth gazed at Roy with glistening blue eyes. "What was it like, basking in the perennial bliss of Branmeadow? Tell me every last detail!" Roy picked up another fried wonton and chewed it thoughtfully.

"Big. And crowded. There were a lot of extras and we only ever did one musical, and I remember some TV station showing up for it and everything."

Marth practically squeaked with jealousy. "Which play was it?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_. It was nothing special." For a brief moment, Roy's eyes glazed over, as if he were dawdling in old memories; however, as soon as Marth noticed it, it was gone, and Roy deflected it with his usual smile. "I'm guessing there will be a lot fewer extras in this play?"

.+.

Willowsdale Art Center gave Roy the impression that at one point it had been highly-sophisticated gallery; now, though, it was beginning to show the unmistakable shadows of age, from its dirty glass walls to the rusted gate that surrounded its overgrown patio. The place was almost deserted other than a few parked cars, and Roy had to bite his lip to keep from gaping as a duck waddled across the concrete and hopped into a nearby fountain.

"Well, here we are." Marth slung a plastic bag over his shoulder and jauntily marched toward the entrance as Roy strolled behind him. "I know it's no Branmeadow, but…"

Roy shook his head. "No, no, this is better than Branmeadow. It's got, umm…what's the word? Rustic charm?"

"I probably need to explain the ducks, don't I?"

"That would be nice."

The chilly interior of Willowdale was much cleaner; freshly polished wooden floors, posters of recent performances, and a set of stairs leading up to a gallery displaying rows of watercolor paintings. Somewhere beneath the rattle of the air conditioner came the sound of muffled voices; Marth quickly took ahold of Roy's shoulders and began steering him towards a doorway that led into a pitch-black auditorium, only to immediately get swatted in the face with a feather duster.

"Samus?" Marth croaked, coughing. The girl holding the offending feather duster narrowed her eyes.

"_Why _are you always late? This place is like five minutes away from your house." Samus brushed her blonde bangs out of her face and sighed. "Did you at least bring the script draft this time?"

"Yes, yes, I brought them. And I have an excuse."

"And that is?"

Marth gently shoved Roy toward Samus and grinned. "Our newest recruit! Perhaps the brightest star in the humble skies of Willowsdale…the one and only Roy Pherae!" Roy felt himself turn scarlet and shot Marth a frenzied look in a last minute attempt to shut him up.

"Oh really?" Samus smiled slightly, her earlier displeasure seemingly dissipating. "Nice to meet you, then. So you're gonna be our secret weapon?"

"Umm…" Roy sheepishly turned his attention to Marth. "Shouldn't we start now?"

"An excellent idea, my pupil!" Marth walked briskly ahead of the other two and into a small, dimly lit room, crowded with chairs and a padded bench as well as a loft bed hanging from the wall.

"Can we all fit in here?" Roy questioned, examining the room skeptically. Samus nodded.

"It's cramped but comfortable, if that makes any sense. And we have assigned seats." She squinted and made a box with her fingers, examining the room. "We could probably fit you up on the loft with Pit."

"Speaking of Pit, where is he? I assumed everyone else was here by now," Marth remarked. Samus shrugged.

"They're around. I think Zelda said something about going to look for props."

As soon as she spoke, the tapping of several pairs of footsteps began to echo through the empty theater, and Pit's tawny head popped into view by the doorway.

"Find anything?" Samus asked.

Pit shook his head dejectedly. "It's sort of hard to look for props when we don't know what we're looking for. Also, the manager cleaned out the supplies closet for summer…" He noticed Marth and gave him a pleading look. "Did you actually bring the script this time? Please say you did."

Marth flipped his hair dramatically. "Why must you all have such little faith in me?" Reaching into the plastic bag, Marth pulled out his trademark binder, this time crammed with even more paper scraps than yesterday. Pit pulled out a stack of neatly-stapled papers and began to read them, frowning.

"Marth, this is…"

Ike and two figures Roy didn't recognize came strolling through the door, chatting idly. Marth quickly seized the papers from Pit's grasp and clapped his hands together. "Now that we're all here, it seems like an appropriate time for introductions, don't you think?" He gestured to Roy, who had been examining the room from the corner, to come forward.

"Fellow artists, allow me to introduce Roy Pherae to our lovely little team." Marth gestured at the others. "And Roy, our dynamic duo, Link Breviloquent and Zelda Elysium."

"Good to meet you," Zelda said gently, peeking out from behind a copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird. _Link smiled and gave a short nod in Roy's direction.

"Now that that's done, let's get down to business, shall we?" As Marth began busily passing papers in every direction, Ike sat down next to Roy and grinned at him.

"So you really did get recruited. Wait until you see what you've gotten yourself into."

Roy laughed. "It can't be any worse than what happened yesterday. That aside though, I wouldn't have guessed you were an actor, Ike."

"Well, I'm not. Not really, anyway. It's more, like…we're a giant fighting robot and each of controls a basic function."

"Giant fighting robot?"

"Hold on, it'll make sense in a minute. Marth directs, Samus does the props, Zelda's our writer, Link deals with the technical stuff, Pit organizes everything and I work on costume design. You might be the first one of us to have genuine acting experience, actually."

"But wait, what about the curtain and the lights? If we're all on stage…" Roy faltered as Ike looked up from his sketchbook and winked.

"It works out all right. Usually."

"We're doing a prequel?" The room had gone quiet as everyone skimmed over the makeshift script, and Zelda had been the first one to pipe up. "We've never done something that wasn't scripted before…this sounds difficult, Marth."

"There's a first time for everything, isn't there?" Marth grinned with the same twitchiness he'd had the day before. "It will put each of our talents to the test, and I think that's exactly what Willowsdale needs. Something…different."

"I could go along with that." Samus fanned herself with the screenplay, half-smiling eagerly. "So, break it down for us. What's the plot?"

Marth's eyes narrowed as he placed his hand over his heart with a melancholy sigh. "Two friends, no…_brothers_, even, separated by a twist of cruel fate that puts them on the opposite ends of the social ladder. One is a common thief, the other, an esteemed knight grown egotistic with political power. However, before this tragedy, they adventured together, braving the most dangerous of quests simply for the sake of friendship." He looked around the room, keeping an eye out for reactions. "Well?"

"It doesn't sound anything like the original," Zelda said doubtfully. "You know, critics are always saying that the best adaptions follow the book…"

"Ah-ah-ah, my dear," Marth chided, waving his finger. "We may not be following the story, but we're certainly adding to it. Think about _Wicked._"

"_Wicked _was a book…" Zelda murmured before ducking her brunette head behind her novel again.

Samus nodded in silent approval. "So are we drawing for parts or not?"

"Not…exactly. I took the liberty of creating parts I think suitable to each of you." Marth reached into the coat of his jacket and pulled out a package of crumpled index cards and shuffled through them, clearing his throat. "Let's see…Zelda will play the role of the shape-shifting sorceress who has her gold stolen by the thief and the knight. Samus, you'll be the only living human left in a castle full of bones picked clean by a giant. Link will be the reanimated ghost of a rich bishop who is having his grave robbed by the clergyman – Pit, that's you – and, Ike. I think you can handle being a carnivorous monster fairly well?"

Ike shrugged. "I guess so. I do get pretty frightening when I'm hungry."

"And, of course, Roy has shown himself more than capable to suffice as our knight. Which leaves me to play the thief." Ike clapped apathetically.

"Yet again, Marth casts himself as the main character. Which is awesome." Marth shot him a teasing look.

"But of course! Now, Zelda, I trust the notes I've given you can help you write the dialogue?"

"I have to admit, this sounds a lot more fun without a source material." Zelda smiled dubiously. "Maybe you really have outdone yourself this time."

"Don't I always? And with that, I dismiss you to lunch until further notice!"

.+.

"Lunch? At eight-thirty in the morning?" Samus leaned against one of the many dead trees littering Willowsdale's outdoor garden. "We really need to plan these meetings better." Zelda handed her a mint Oreo and then offered one to Roy, who took it gratefully.

"So it's always like this?" Roy peeled his Oreo in two and licked the filling off slowly. "I like it. It makes it more…fun, I guess."

Zelda peered at him with interest. "How so?"

Roy put his hand on his chin. "Well, at Branmeadow practices were four hours long and everyone was divided. We never talked things over as a group like you guys do, and I don't think we _ever _picked parts that fast."

Samus chuckled. "And that's why they're the famous ones and we're not. Or maybe it has something to do with our director being completely insane. He's so…_overconfident_.He'll never get a girlfriend like that."

Zelda raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't want a girlfriend. Come on, Sam, that's obvious enough."

Roy had just enough time to digest what she'd said before Marth waltzed over to their picnic table, holding a bag of ice to one of his elbows. Samus rolled her eyes.

"Marth, you're going to kill yourself if you keep trying to move the spotlight without any help."

"I know, I know, lesson learned."

"You mean you didn't learn your lesson when you broke your foot last year?"

"I just needed a…reminder. Now, if you ladies don't mind, I'd like to have a chat with our newest member." The girls strolled off and Marth sat next to Roy with a grin.

"How was it?"

"A lot better than cleaning the bathroom. Oh, one question though."

"And that is?"

Roy hopped up and walked over to a lonely vending machine with Marth in pursuit. "The ducks. Tell me about the ducks."

Marth snorted. "Well, this is a surprise. No questions about scheduling practices, performance dates, the fact that Samus just told you I was gay…anything?"

Bashfully, Roy darted his eyes away from Marth's and bit his lip. "You heard that? I mean, not that I have a problem with it. Actually, I am too, sort of. I mean, maybe. So yeah..."

"Relax." Marth gave his nervous pupil a warm smile. "It takes all kinds to run a show, sexual preference notwithstanding. So! The scheduling. Any opinions?"

"That can wait until we have a solid script, can't it?"

"You might be waiting a lot longer than that."

"Then I'll just go with the flow." Roy shrugged and returned to poking the coin return button on the vending machine furiously. "It's kind of exciting not to have a deadline. And I think this thing stole my money."

"We could go get a bite to eat when class is dismissed."

"When is that?"

Marth cupped his good hand around his mouth and turned to face the others. "_Class dismissed!_"

"You can just do that?"

"I _am _the director." The older boy fished his car keys out of his pocket and led Roy into the parking lot, smiling mischievously. "Now, about the ducks…"

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! Especially considering I really hate this chapter and there was absolutely no reason for it to take so long. My only excuses are laziness, writers' block, and Code Geass. D: **

**Anyway, this part is little more than character development, so I don't have a lot to say about it. I promise that in the future chapters things will speed up and we'll finally get to the Marroy. Also, I apologize for the extreme lack of Link so far. He's a quiet guy but I swear he'll get more focus as the story goes on. c:**


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